Lie to Me
by Midnight Raptor
Summary: When faced with the most difficult news of her life, Allison Cameron is determined to keep everything a secret. But when House becomes interested, there's little she can do to stop him from finding out. Slight Hameron Cameron-centric. Chapter 7 up Complet
1. Prologue

Title: Lie to Me

Rating: T

Status: Completed

Warnings: Major character death although it won't happen in the story. You'll have to read in order to really get what that means.

Characters: Cameron-centric through her, House's, and Wilson's POV, slight House/Cameron

A/N: So, I wanted to write something before I go back to school and after a lot of brain storming, this is what I came up with. This will be my 2nd attempt at a multi-chapter fic. I'm quite proud of this so far. Also, this will be my first fic that isn't centered on a ship. There is some slight House/Cameron but it's more of a friendship, if anything. As another note, this was actually inspired by a little dialogue in "The Dark Knight" between Harvey Dent and Gordon. For those of you who've seen the movie, it's the bit towards the end when Dent/Two-Face says, "Then lie. Lie, like I lied." to Gordon. I really liked their whole dialogue so I tried to intigrate the main idea of it into this fic. Anyway, that comes later as I haven't even written it yet. So, read and please leave a review. ;)

Disclaimer: As a matter of fact I do own House...in an alternate universe. XP

Lie to Me

They say that doctors make the worse patients. It's almost like a rule, really. To them, knowing what the diagnosis entails seems to hold some sort of unspoken privilege to wave away whatever advice their attending physician attempts to give. They nod (or shake their heads), and agree (or disagree) to the prognosis but want to carry on with life as they've always done. They actively participate in the discussion of the preferable treatment and offer up their own treatment plan for the consideration of their colleague because, hey, they're doctors too.

But to every rule there is an exception. They're not always pretty but for every stubborn, middle aged chief of Radiology who'd rather go against his physician's orders and take a cough drop for his quickly escalating strep than take a day off, there is someone who doesn't say anything at all. Someone who merely sits on the exam table and stares blankly into nothing as their attending talks seriously about their test results. Someone who knows the diagnosis by just glancing at the film in the other doctor's hands and exactly what he'll say before he even opens his mouth to say it. Someone by the name of Allison Cameron.

The slow, almost apologetic words of the clinic doctor at Princeton General barely register in her mind and she doesn't even notice when he places a hand reassuringly on her arm. The only thing in her thoughts was that damn MRI that had now been imprinted, burned, etched, forevermore into her mind.

But somehow, she catches him saying something about sending a referral to a doctor in Boston.

"Actually," she says, jerking out of her stupor with great effort; her eyes are still focused elsewhere. "I have a friend who specializes in this. I'd like to talk to him."

The doctor smiles gently although she can't see this. "Of course. I'll send the results with you."

She doesn't say much else for the rest of the appointment but this doesn't seem to bother the other doctor. When she begins to gather her things to leave, he touches her shoulder in one final attempt to convey his sympathy. Still, she doesn't look at him even when she's thanking him for his help. She leaves the clinic just as weary as she was when she came in only 20 minutes ago but what little spring in her step that had been there before has now vanished and faded with the cold, October wind. Once in her car, she sets the thin, cardboard package the doctor had given her on the seat next to her and, after taking a breath to compose herself, leaves the parking lot of Princeton General and doesn't look back.

* * *

A/N: What do you think? Like it? I know this first part is short but it's just the prologue. I promise the next chapters will be longer. Also, in case you're wondering this takes place about a year or so after the Season 4 finale. Please leave a review! I love them.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, so...here's Chapter 1. I promised it'd be longer. And also, I'm not a doctor nor do I have any form of medical training what so ever so excuse whatever medical errors you may find in my story. There isn't too much talk of medicine but I really do try to be as accurate as possible (I actually do a bit of research before I start writing anything like this. So, enough of my rambling and on with the story. ;)

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Chapter 1

_Why am I doing this_, she asks herself as she sits in her car and stares determinedly at her hands. _Why do I need to know? _But she knew the answer. It was simple, really. Because she needed to know. Because she needed to hear the words spoken by someone she knew and trusted. Someone who actually gave a damn about her life.

Glancing sideways, her gaze finds the cardboard package sitting innocently in the passenger seat. It was harmless, a single word stamped in red on the top its only real warning: CONFIDENTIAL. It's been two days since the doctor at Princeton General handed them over to her and she knows she's already waited far too long. Before she realizes what she's doing, her fingers find the opening and inch to remove its contents but she manages to stop herself before it happens. She doesn't want to see it again until she has to. Fighting back tears, she hastily makes up her mind, grabs the brown package, and lets herself out of the car.

--

"Dr. Cameron."

She half turns, cringing slightly at the small glitch in her plan to get to the elevators without being interrupted. But upon seeing Cuddy step out of the clinic to greet her, several files clutched in her arms, she manages to put on a smile and attempts to hide the cardboard package behind her back.

"'Morning."

The older woman returns her smile and thankfully doesn't seem to find anything odd about the thin parcel behind Cameron's back. "Good morning. You're here early. Is there a new trauma in the ER I didn't hear about?"

"No, actually I left my cell phone in my locker last night." she lies, hoping to reach the elevators soon. "I was too lazy to come back and get it so I decided to come in early today."

"I've done that so many times it's a wonder I still have a phone." replies Cuddy with light exasperation.

The two laugh at their hopeless tendencies as they reach the elevator. _Is she coming up_, Cameron wonders, panicking slightly. Just then a voice from behind calls for the dean of medicine, asking her to sign off on a shipment of wheelchairs due to arrive.

"Duty calls." says Cuddy. "Looks like I'll have to pay House's team a visit later." With that, she turns and leaves.

There's a _ding! _announcing the arrival of an elevator and Cameron quickly steps in. She presses the button for the fourth floor and breathes a sigh of relief as the doors slide shut in front of her.

--

Paperwork.

He hates paperwork.

The endless stack of files and charts that accumulate to staggering proportions on his desk as the day goes on makes him groan just thinking about them. Hundreds upon hundreds of white sheets and various nuclear imaging scans that all need his opinion, approval, and diagnosis. Sometimes he finds himself working on autopilot in the middle of the night, his brain barely comprehending what his hand is furiously scribbling away. Still, it's his job and if he doesn't do it, who will? So, once he takes a minute to take in the already ridiculous amount of papers spread out in front of him, he sighs and pulls the nearest one toward him.

--

_Ding!_

She flinches, having been rudely brought out of her thoughts by the elevator signaling their arrival on her desired floor. Calming herself and her racing heart, she steps off the lift and turns left toward the single wooden door tucked away in the corner. Unconsciously, she grips the thin package at her side even harder as she stops before the door. Not for the first time today, she stalls momentarily. She can still walk away. No one's making her do this. She scoffs inwardly at her feeble attempts to dissuade herself. Who is she kidding? Of course she needs to do this.

She takes a deep breath and knocks softly on the door.

--

Prescription refills. Patient referrals. Test results. He's only been working for several minutes but he can already sense a long day ahead. He moves on to the next item of business, the file of a 55 year old man with colon cancer who was having complications post-surgery. He makes a note to check on him later.

Just then, there's a knock on the door. It's soft, delicate almost and if it hadn't been for the total silence of his office, he probably would've missed it.

"Come in." he says without looking up from his work.

There's a pause before the door opens, the visitor poking their head cautiously into the office.

"Hey, Wilson." says a quiet female voice from the doorway.

He looks up and finds Allison Cameron standing in his office. "Oh, Cameron, hi." Slightly puzzled, he glances at his watch. It's 8:30. "You're early."

She doesn't say anything and just stands there looking a bit lost. The brown package shifts in her arms.

He doesn't quite know what to make of this so he just watches her for a moment. For some reason, she looks different. Her eyes droop, probably from lack of sleep, and her shoulders seem to hunch forward slightly. Sure, he knows that working the ER was in no way a glamorous job but he has never seen her like this. She was wavering somewhere just beyond complete exhaustion.

Then he notices the package at her side. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asks slowly, still very much confused at her being there.

She tries to force herself to look at him but only manages to bring her eyes to rest on his desk. "Yeah," she says after finding her voice which has begun to shake. "Uh…do you think you can take a look at these?" She lifts the thin package and holds it out in front of her to hand to him.

"Oh." It's a consult. Of course. Quickly, he glances down at the papers on his desk and figures he can take a few minutes to do something for a friend. "Uh…yeah, sure." Standing up, he takes the parcel from her and makes his way to the light screen on the wall. "Who's scans are these?"

"A patient's." she answers, her voice very quiet.

_Well, that's pretty obvious_, he thinks but doesn't say anything. He flicks on the screen and pulls out two scans, fitting them on the board. What he sees, he doesn't like. Not in the slightest.

Beside him, Cameron tenses as the light behind the screen illuminates the two scans, sharpening their images to the almost unnecessary details. For the second time, she looks upon MRI and her gaze lingers there for a moment before she has to look away.

Wilson studies the image intently and his brow furrows with concern as he makes his diagnosis. "5.5 centimeter mass located on the frontal lobe partially extending into the parietal lobe. Inoperable. You should biopsy to confirm the kind of tumor but it's definitely terminal. I'd give them four, maybe six years, tops." It's never the kind of diagnosis he likes to give but there it is. "Who's scans are these?" he asks again, still looking at the MRIs, since whoever they belong to will probably end up being his patient. When Cameron doesn't answer him, he turns to look at her. "Cameron?"

She's staring at some distant point on the wall and doesn't even react to her name. A horrible, sinking feeling enters his gut and he quickly looks again at the scans, then to the thin package emblazoned with the word: CONFIDENTIAL in his hands, and then back to her. Slowly, she brings her eyes over from their spot on the wall to meet his. What he sees in them, he's seen hundreds of times in his own patients. The realization of their situation and the fear of what was to come.

"Oh my, God." He never expected this and now is caught completely off guard. Aside from her obvious exhaustion, she shows no sign of even being ill let alone the almost six centimeter mass sitting in her brain. "Cameron, I…" He can't even form a whole sentence.

She just looks at him, tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry." he finally says.

For a second, she doesn't know what he's apologizing for. This wasn't his fault. Then she realizes that it's probably the only appropriate thing he can say. Closing her eyes, she lets a lone tear escape down her cheek but keeps the rest of the cascade in check. She had to be strong.

And then she feels the strong arms of James Wilson wrap around her and lets the soothing darkness take over.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry if what's wrong with Cameron seems a little cliche. That was jus the only thing I could think of that fits into my scenario that doesn't require a buttload of explaining. The fact that she's terminal and that there's nothing that she can really do plays into the story in the last chapter. Keep that in mind. Also, school just started so things will be pretty hectic for me but I'll try to update soon. Anyway, please leave a review. I'm not asking for much jus tell me what you think. ;)


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 here! House finally makes his appearance. Also, just FYI, this isn't going to be really long story. As of right now I have about 8 chapters planned. This is all just leading up to a moment that I think is really significant in the story. So for those of you who don't want Cameron to die, good news. She won't in the time frame of this fic. Anyway, on with the chapter.

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Chapter 2

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy!" announces the tall, disheveled man as he limps through the hospital doors. He smirks as he sees that he's clearly startled the dean of medicine.

"Good morning, House." she answers as she signs yet another paper, somewhat suspicious of his enthusiastic greeting. "You seem unusually cheerful. Great night with the hooker?"

He makes a show of acting extremely pleased. "You've no idea. Did you know that a bicycle pump is not only useful for inflating tires but—"

"Don't want to hear it." she interrupts.

Smirking again, he starts to make his way to the elevators.

"Oh and I told Colin Murray that you'd see him shortly." Cuddy calls after him.

At this, he stops and turns back to her. "Who?"

"Your patient."

"How can I have a patient if I don't have a case?"

Now it's her turn to smirk. "You do now. I sent the files up to your office. Your team should be going over them now."

Groaning, he resumes his walk to the elevator. "You're an evil, evil woman!" he yells over his shoulder.

--

"I really should get to work."

He looks at her, concerned. They're sitting on his couch, his hand resting reassuringly on her back while she hunches forward, head in her hands. "Why don't you take a day off." he suggests. "I know this is a lot to take in in one day."

"I can't." she replies, shaking her head. "Working is the only way I can forget about all this."

He understands, having heard this hundreds of times over. "Okay."

She remains sitting for another minute before getting up. He follows in suit. When she begins to move, he places his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her to the door.

"Listen," he says, turning to her. "Why don't you come back this afternoon? Maybe after your shift."

She tenses at the thought of coming back, knowing what discussion was lingering ahead.

Sensing her discomfort, he quickly adds, "We don't have to talk about…what comes next, if you don't want to. I just thought that maybe you'd like someone to talk to. As a friend."

She takes a moment to respond. "I'd like that." she answers and gives him a small smile.

Knowing that that was probably one of the few times she's smiled in the last few days, he flashes her one of his boyish grins. "Alright. I'll see you later then."

She allows herself to be pulled into another hug. "Thank you, Wilson." she says once they break away.

"No problem."

With that, she leaves his office and heads off to the ER. Closing the door, Wilson stands there momentarily, taking everything in. He glances at his watch. 9:09. Groaning, he rubs his neck and makes for his desk. This definitely was going to be a very long day.

--

He stands in the elevator, whistling a random tune as the lift slowly ascends to the fourth floor. Aside from Cuddy's conniving plan of sticking him with an unwanted case, the day was going by fairly well. He'd just get the team to do a quick differential, going with the most simplest diagnosis, have them run whatever mindless, useless test they deemed necessary, a few "Lorazepam, stat. He's seizing!" here and "O2 stats down to 80. We need to intubate." there, stabilize him, and there you go.

The elevator jerks to a stop and he steps out as soon as the doors open. Out of habit, he glances to his left at the door marked JAMES WILSON, M.D. and is promptly surprised when he see a blonde woman exiting the office.

"Good morning, Dr. Cameron!" he calls in her direction and stops right in her way. "What brings you to my beautiful part of the woods? Or more specifically, what brings you to the Boy Wonder's cozy little cottage?"

"None of your business." There's an edge in her voice and he doesn't miss it. Neither does he miss the fact that she won't meet his gaze.

"A little crabby, are we?"

"Just annoyed." she snaps as she steps around him and gets into the elevator.

He watches as she still doesn't look up from the floor. The doors then slide shut, taking Cameron and a far more intriguing puzzle out of his sight.

"Interesting."

Glancing again at Wilson's door, he makes for it but stops dead in his tracks when a sharp pain shoots up his right leg. He takes out his bottle and swallows two pills on the spot. Grumbling, he changes course and heads for his office. But he'll make it a point to get to Wilson later. And Cameron. She's got him interested and when Gregory House is interested, everything becomes his business.

* * *

A/N: Uh-oh. Trouble for Cameron. Please take the time to leave a review. I love hearing what you guys think. ;)


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok, here's the deal. My laptop's AC adaptor's broken so I only have about 4-5 hours of battery life left and this is my only computer with internet access. I decided to post this chapter now so that you guys don't have to wait for hell to freeze over for an update while I'm getting a new adaptor. XP So, please read and review, and please bear with me. ;)

Chapter 3

_Goddamn House_, she swears violently to herself as she makes her way in silence down to the first floor. Of all the times for him to show up, he had to appear right as she was leaving Wilson's office. The whole point of her coming early was so that she didn't have to deal with him and his antics since he never bothers to come in before 9:00. _So much for that plan_.

The elevator arrives on the first floor and she gets off, heading for the locker room. Now that he's seen her leaving Wilson's, there's no doubt in her mind as to what will follow. She almost groans out loud thinking about it. She knows Wilson wouldn't say anything, after all she trusts him completely, but it wasn't House confronting him that she was dreading. No, what she was dreading was her own impeding confrontation with the misanthropic bastard. She could only hope to hold it altogether with him.

She's almost to the locker room when her head begins to throb unbearably. It's all she can do not to scream out in pain. Somehow, she manages to continue on inside. It's empty, much to her relief, and she staggers to her locker, the pain almost blinding her. She collapses on the bench, burying her head in her hands to block out the light while grinding her teeth in agony at the same time. For what seems like ages, she sits there, waiting for the pain to pass. Moments turn in into seconds, seconds turn into minutes until, finally, when she's almost reduced to tears, the throbbing eases away.

She catches her breath and gets her heart back down to a reasonable rate. That wasn't the first mind-numbingly excruciating headache she's had. They had started about two and a half months ago, first as short pangs that came and went in less than ten seconds. Originally, she didn't think too much about them. She had a stressful job in which she gave 100 almost everyday of the week. A few headaches shouldn't be serious. But then they escalated to full-blown migraines. These, too, she had tried to ignore but as the weeks went on and they showed no sign of letting up, she decided to get herself checked. But for the sake of not wanting gossip to spread like wildfire through PPTH, she checked into the clinic at Princeton General.

She was examined and given several neurological tests before being prescribed some pain medication and strict orders to take it easy. Diagnosis: stress. For a week or so, she was fine, the topamax working wonders for her migraines until one day she nearly killed herself trying to get rid of a particularly nasty headache. Not even the meds were working. Alarmed, she once again checked into Princeton General. This time MRIs and CTs were ordered as well as another battery of neurological tests and when the results arrived, they were not what she had expected. Not in the slightest.

Rubbing her temples now, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. Somehow, she'll have to accept that these migraines were going to become a fact of life for her. For the next… She almost slaps herself for thinking about it. _No, I'm not dealing with this now. I'm going to work to forget about it. _She reiterates this to herself as she gets up and opens her locker. She then proceeds to put her purse and coat inside and, after checking her reflection in the mirror, walks determinedly to the ER.

--

His leg's hurting again.

Not just a little pinch or cramp every now and then but really, really hurting. As it is, he can barely make it to his office. Pushing the glass door open with his cane, he hobbles inside and immediately sits down in the chair to his right. He begins to rub his thigh, wincing every time the muscle pangs in protest. With his other hand, he pulls out his Vicodin only to groan in exasperation when he finds that the bottle is now empty. _Is this someone's idea of a cruel joke?_

He eyes the distance between the chair he is currently vacating and the bookshelf behind his desk, weighing his need for the pills against the pain. He then decides that if it wasn't for the pain he wouldn't need the pills so he gets up and limps painfully for his salvation. He fumbles with the lupus book for a moment, cursing as he does so, before extracting the bottle from the cut-out hole in the pages. Two pills are out one second then gone the next. Just tasting them makes some of the pain go away.

Sighing with relief, he sets himself down in his swivel chair and closes his eyes. The day had looked so promising. But once that initial throbbing had hit him this morning, everything had gone down hill. The case that had once seemed like a boring nothing quickly changed in no time, the patient going from one organ system failure to the next and neither House nor his team could figure out why. Then, to top it all off, Cuddy had insisted that if he was just going to sit around and brood about his patient's symptoms, he should at least use whatever part of his brain that wasn't being used for that very reason to diagnose the clinic patients. And so it was four hours of hearing mindless accounts of people's medical problems which, in his humble opinion, shouldn't even be called "problems." "Paranoia" fit better.

He momentarily stops his grumblings as he remembers that he still needed to confront Wilson about his little meeting with Cameron. Deciding that the pain wasn't as important as satisfying his interest, he gets up, leaning heavily on his cane, and makes his way to the balcony. From his side, he can see Wilson sitting in the chair in front of his desk talking to a woman on the couch. Although she was turned away from him, House had a very good idea as to who exactly she was.

Reaching the door, he pushes but only comes up against resistance. He raps loudly on the glass. "Open up!"

At this, Wilson looks up and glares at him. The woman on the couch doesn't even flinch.

When Wilson makes no attempt to unlock the door, House decides to use the front entrance. But before he turns around, his pager goes off. Grabbing the device, he quickly reads the message, with every intention of ignoring it. His patient has a new symptom. Much to his dismay (and growing curiosity), this one actually seems worth the look. Frowning, he glances back at Wilson, who is still eyeing him warningly, and makes up his mind. The intervention will have to come later.

* * *

A/N: You know what I'm gonna say. ;) I don't know when I'll get my adaptor so jus hang tight. I promise I won't make you wait too long. ;)


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm back! I really haven't fallen off the face of the earth. My AC adaptor arrived a few days ago so I've been writing as much as my limited free time allows me. We're almost to the end. Right now I have 2 maybe 3 chapters left so here we are. This chapter's a bit longer than the previous ones, for those of you who wanted longer chapters. ;) Anyway, please read and review!

Disclaimer: All I own is the plot.

Chapter 4

He almost doesn't know how to handle this. That's the thing about being doctors especially when you have a specialty like his. You treat dozens of patients everyday; some will come out of this ordeal with nothing more than some scars and a pretty nasty scare. Still, for others, the fear is real and they know what they have to look forward to and as much as it scares them, there's nothing anyone can do to change it.

But he doesn't know them. He doesn't know their story when he comes to tell them the news. He doesn't know who they are when he meets them for the first time, his speech already thought out and prepared.

That's why with her, it's different. Because he knows. Because for the past six years, he's been her colleague and friend. Because when you've known someone for that long, handing them a death sentence is one of the hardest things you'll ever do.

And so when she comes in later that day, he's almost as relieved as she is when they start talking about everything except the cancer. He wants to give her a sense of normalcy, something that she probably won't being experiencing a lot of from now on, before he really addresses her situation.

They've just started talking about the upcoming benefit event when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots House hopping over the wall that separated the two balconies.

He groans. "Don't look but House is about to pay us a visit."

She closes her eyes almost as if she's bracing herself for an impact. And in a way she is.

"I locked the door though, don't worry." He can almost sense her relaxing as he says this.

Sure enough, when House tries to let himself into the office, the glass door stubbornly stands in the way. However, this doesn't seem to deter him as he taps the glass a few times. "Open up!"

Wilson looks at him, shooting him a warning glance. _Don't_, he says in his head as if House could hear him. This was not a moment for him to be playing his games. Then he hears House's pager go off through the door and watches as its message is read and the device replaced. A brief look of indecision fleets across his face and after glancing back at Wilson, he limps back to his office.

"Well, that was easy." he says, leaning back in his chair. "He didn't lay siege this time or build a Trojan Horse."

This earns him the faintest of smiles from Cameron but it's gone in a second. He can see that she wants to say something so he gives her a moment.

"He saw me this morning." she says quietly. "When I was leaving. He wanted to know what I was doing here."

_Of course he did. _"What did you say?"

"That it was none of his business."

"Well, that's good."

A silence fills the air.

Then she says what's on both of their minds. "You know he'll just keep asking."

He almost shrugs. "It's House. You got him curious. Now, it's just another puzzle to him." He watches her closely as she thinks about this, knowing the truth behind his every word. "Are you going to tell him?

"What choice to I have?"

He carefully chooses his answer. "Well, you could wait until he does figure it out. I wouldn't tell him, obviously, but whether it's through blackmail or whatever else his twisted mind can come up with, you know that he will find out. Or you could do the human thing."

She looks at him, curious.

"Lie to him." he says simply. "Of course, you'd be feeding his misanthropy but then again, he won't know the truth."

She considers this, weighing the pros and cons of each option. "No, he'll just act like he does."

To this, he had nothing to say. She had a point. If she lied, House would find out eventually and although he probably wouldn't know exactly what she was lying about, he'd make her think he did. Inwardly, he sighs in frustration. Why was the man such a child when it came to matters like this?

--

"Finally." he mutters as he limps out of the patient room and closes the door.

After nearly three hours of searching for the cause of Colin Murray's newest symptom, uncontrolable laughing, crying, and smiling, he and the team were finally able to take a breather. At least, that's what his team is doing. He, on the other hand, is heading for the office of a certain oncologist.

Cameron would most likely be gone by now but what the heck? He can have a little chat with her later. When he reaches his destination, he peeks inside through the side windows and sees Wilson scribbling away at his desk, his head drooping slightly from obvious exhaustion. He smirks. Time to give Jimmy a little wake up call. Without wasting another second, he bursts through the door and strides into the office.

"So, what is she like Mrs. Wilson Number Four? Five?" he asks as soon as he comes in. "I'd guess Six but you never actually proposed to Amber."

Wilson jumps in his chair at the sudden intrusion and blinks rapidly a few times before responding. "Why do you do this?"

"Why do I do what?"

"Start talking like we've been having a conversation for the past five minutes and expect me to know what the hell you're talking about."

"Oh, come on. You know exactly what I'm talking about." House retorts almost accusingly.

"No, I don't."

But he sees right through this. _He wants to play this game?_ Fine. "Cameron was leaving your office this morning." he says after staring at Wilson appraisingly for a moment. "Why?"

The oncologist's jaw clenches. "It's none of your business."

"When my ex-employee comes out of my best friend's office looking like someone peed in their Cheerios at nine in the morning after their shift starts, yeah, its kinda my business."

"No, it's not."

"Do you honestly think that's gonna work on me?" He's getting frustrated. They stare at each other, House determined to crack Wilson; Wilson determined not to.

"Why was she here?" he repeats, raising his voice.

Now Wilson looks uncomfortable, nervous even. There's several long seconds of silence and House uses this to watch his friend intently. Something was definitely going on. "She just wanted to talk." Wilson finally answers and House can tell he chose his words carefully.

"About what? Wedding plans?"

Wilson's eyes dart around the room, incredulous. "You're unbelievable. I try telling you the truth. You brush it aside."

"That isn't the truth." he replies, rolling his eyes. "It's just something you concocted that resembles the truth." He pauses, looking at him expectantly as if by doing this Wilson would feel the need to confess. When silence is his only reply, he makes for the door. "Fine. I'll beat it out of her."

But Wilson isn't finished. "House, don't―"

"Oh, don't 'don't' me." he interrupts in an almost condescending tone. "You know I need to know. This isn't a surprise to you. You won't tell me. She will."

Wilson tilts his head. "What makes you so sure?"

Now this is getting interesting. "What makes _you_ so sure?" he repeats, walking back towards the desk. "You wouldn't have any reason to think that unless you already knew that she had no intention of telling me."

He watches as friend's gaze falters slightly.

"You've already discussed this with her, haven't you?" Wilson's silence is his confirmation. "'What to say once House gets interested.'"

"Excuse us for wanting to be prepared."

He considers this. "Well, if you've already rehearsed it, might as well give the act its big debut." Having said this, he once again heads for the door.

"House." came Wilson's warning voice from behind him.

"Relax. I'm sure Cameron's quite the little actress."

With that, he threw open the door and stepped out, his leg shooting spasms of pain as he did so.

* * *

A/N: So...? Thoughts? I'd love to hear them. ;)


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Chapter 5 here. The confrontation between Cameron and House awaits you. Also, the new team makes a small cameo. We're nearing the end of this story unfortunately. Only 2 more chapters after this one. Ah, well. Things must end. Anyway, I'll stop talking and let you start reading. ;)

Disclaimer: Do you really think I own House?

Chapter 5

_Damn it._

She's late. Again. No doubt, her staff will notice this but as senior attending, there's little they can do but speculate. Not that that would be good for her either. She walks briskly into the locker room, utterly grateful that the place is deserted, and makes a beeline for her locker. After fiddling with the lock for a moment, she gets it open, shoving her purse unceremoniously into the compartment while simultaneously pulling out her lab coat. There's a small stain on one of the sleeves, probably coffee, and she makes a note to get it cleaned after her shift. She manages to get one arm through a sleeve when a voice speaks behind her.

"You're late."

That voice. It's gravelly, rough, low and easily one of its owner's most recognizable features. It's one she's heard hundreds upon hundreds of times before in every tone possible from quiet and nervous to loud and furious. Right now, there's a smugness about it that she's gotten used to over the years but can never fully embrace. She closes her eyes, knowing what was coming next. "What do you want, House?"

"To know why you're late." he states. "For six years, you've had perfect attendance. Sure, you've missed a day or two but you always made it your duty to let someone know. But this time…this time you didn't."

She opens her eyes but keeps turned into her locker. "I was in a meeting." she answers slowly. In a way it isn't a lie. She had been meeting with someone.

But House doesn't buy it. "Nope. The only meeting this morning was the budget committee at 8:45 and you're not even on that anymore. Can't be car trouble 'cause then you'd actually have time to call in. You didn't sleep in 'cause you have your make-up on." He pauses in his analysis long enough for her to get her other arm in her lab coat. "That leaves loosing track of time. Now, how would that happen?"

She just about looses it. "Why does it matter to you?" she half yells, slamming her locker shut so that she can face House. His blue eyes are staring down at her and she fights losing herself in them. Even after all those years, he still has this effect on her.

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "It's an anomaly. Anomalies interest me. That and the fact that this is the second time in a row you've been late. So, either you're starting a new trend or something's going on. And I'm thinking that your little date with Wilson is somehow connected."

"It has nothing to do with you."

"If it has to do with Wilson, it has to do with me." he replies, somehow having the absurd idea that she was subject to his reasoning.

"Since when is my life suddenly number one priority to you?" She takes a step toward him, her anger slowly building up inside her. "It's kinda late don't you think?"

His face seems to twitch slightly but it's almost unnoticeable. She swears there's a small beat between her question and his response. "Since Cuddy finally admitted to being a transsexual."

She looks at him, incredulous. Even in a serious situation, he still found a way to turn something into a joke

"I know. Shocked me too."

But she's had enough of this and tries heading for the door only to almost collide headlong into House when he stands firmly in the doorway. "Get out of my way, House."

"Be happy to. As soon as you tell me what's going on."

"You wouldn't care."

"If I didn't care, how would I justify berating you into telling me?" he answers smartly.

"I don't know but you would."

"Try me."

"Damn it, House. I'm not playing your games." she snaps, trying again to get around him but he just moves deftly back in her way.

"Don't give me this." There's something flashing in his eyes now but she can't quite place what it is. "After all we've been through, you at least owe me—"

And she slaps him.

The force of the impact snaps his head to the side and it remains like that with his shock clearly written on his face, his gaze not leaving from where it had landed on the floor.

"I don't owe you anything." she says coldly, her voice deadly quiet. And, fighting back tears, she steps around him and heads outside.

--

If there was ever an award for "The Most Hours Spent Sitting On Your Ass in Between Patients" he's dead certain he'd win it. Hell, the entire department would win it. As it is, it's been 7 hours, 17 minutes, and 32 seconds since he walked in here after heading home for a few hours to try to catch some sleep while the patient was stable and 4 hours, 21 minutes, and 15 seconds since Thirteen had an epiphany about the diagnosis. They had tried calling House but the miserable bastard hadn't answered or returned any of their calls so they just went ahead and treated the patient. That had been 3 hours, 56 minutes, and 41 seconds ago.

He looks at his watch. Make that 57 minutes. It's now 9:43. Groaning silently, he picks up his coffee and gives it a stir, the brown mixture now too cold to drink with any sort of enjoyment. He sneaks a glance at Taub who seems perfectly content reading the latest copy of the _New England Medical Journal_. Usually it's Foreman who read those monotonous things but seeing as their second boss isn't in the conference room, Taub had decided to steal both his journal and his chair. He looks at Thirteen now who's sitting directly across from him. It's odd that they still call her that since they are all in full knowledge of her real name. But somehow it seems unfitting that they would refer to her as anything but that random prime number. She's doing paperwork, her small, delicate hand flying across the papers as she fills out names, dates, conditions, and other medical information.

It's then that his boss decides to walk through the door.

He momentarily pauses his coffee stirring to acknowledge him. "We know what's―" But then he stops. Not because House is now turning away from him and heading to his office. But because his left cheek is flushed bright red.

"What's wrong with your face?" he asks slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Thirteen and Taub look up, curious.

"I ran into a wall."

He stares at him, unsure if he was being serious or sarcastic. "We figured out what's wrong with Murray."

But House doesn't show even the slightest interest. "Great. Treat him." he says and disappears into his office.

Baffled, he exchanges glances with his colleagues who all look just as lost as he does. Something was up. One, because "I ran into a wall." is either what really happened or a really stupid lie about what did occur. And two, Gregory House never brushes aside the final diagnosis.

Ever.

* * *

A/N: I realized as I was editting this chapter that the new team completely resembles the old team, with them doing what the old team was characteristic of (Foreman reading, Cameron charting, and Chase sitting idly by). I so did not even plan that. It just happened. XP And some of you might think that Cameron slapping House might've seem a bit OOC but if you just found out that you were dying and your ass of an ex-boss decides to stick his nose in your business, wouldn't you do something drastic too? So having said that...review please!


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Computers are evil things. I've been having problems with my laptop so I've fallen a bit behind schedule. The last bit of dialogue is taking forever to write. I planned to have chapter 7 done by now but I don't so I'm trying my best to catch up. But until then, you guys have chapter 6 to read. Second to last chapter here. We're almost done. So, let the reading begin.

Disclaimer: I wouldn't mind owning House and Hugh Laurie and his crazy big pay check (400,000 per episode!) but I don't and never will. XP

Chapter 6

She needs to get out of there.

She's been working nonstop since she arrived about 45 minutes late for her shift and she's already missed her break. Usually working clears her mind of all her other problems but today that just isn't the case. Her head's been spinning all morning, distracting her from doing even the simplest procedures; she nearly pierced a man's throat with a laryngoscope trying to intubate him.

Handing a chart to a nurse at the nurse's station, she whips off her glasses and checks the time. 2:34. Well past her break.

"I'm stepping out for a minute." she informs the nurse. "Page me if anything comes up."

The nurse nods her reply and Cameron takes this as her cue to leave. Exiting the ER, she finds herself walking along the various corridors with no real destination in mind. She just needs to be alone. Several people smile in her direction and a few even give a passing greeting but she doesn't acknowledge them.

She eventually ends up in the quieter part of the hospital, away from the chaos and confusion of the ER and the different trauma centers. When she doesn't see anyone sneaking confused glances her way, she slips into a deserted hallway and leans back against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief at the seclusion. She closes her eyes, allowing herself to slip down the wall and sit on the floor. Slowly, the day's events begin to surface again.

She had gone to visit Wilson again that morning. The soft-eyed oncologist had engaged her in an amusing lamentation of how his apartment had run out of hot water for some absurd reason and she was just beginning to loosen up when the conversation had suddenly turned. He'd said that they couldn't just keep dancing around the topic forever and that one day they'd have to talk about it. Of course, she knew full well what discussion they were going to have.

"I know." she said quietly. "I was just too scared to bring it up."

But he understood. After all, it was part of his job. Knowing that whatever he was going to say would ruin the rest of her day and quite possibly her life for good, she decided to meet him again after her shift. He had looked almost as tired as she was when she left for the ER after their meeting and she suddenly knew just how much of a burden being a doctor like him could be. Nevertheless, he'd given her one of his small, comforting smiles before she walked out the door.

And then there came House.

She knew that his confrontation would come sooner or later. It was just a matter of how persistent and how much of an ass he was going to be. At first, it had just been him and his psychoanalytical answers to his psychoanalytical rhetorical questions. No surprises there. But then he had to go an make it personal. Of course he did. He was a 15 year old boy with a sharp stick and an even sharper tongue and he knew just where to use it.

She cringes now as she remembers the slap. Looking back, it's hard to pinpoint exactly what set her off. Maybe it was those damn words that left his mouth as if he knew they were true. Maybe it was her sheer exhaustion from everything that had been thrown at her during the past few days. Or maybe it was just annoyance. Whatever it was, it made her act and it made her act drastically. She can't even remember the last time she slapped someone. If House wasn't interested then, he certainly would be now.

Just then, her pager goes off. Sighing, she savors the last few seconds of quiet and darkness before opening her eyes to check the beeper.

_Reality's a bitch_.

--

Something was definitely wrong.

Of all the years he had known Allison Cameron, of all the times he had seen her get frustrated, annoyed, angry, or just down right pissed off, not once had he ever seen her act violently toward anyone. She would yell and scream and stare until you'd swear that you could see her very eyes turn red but she would never even consider raising a hand. And so when she had slapped him earlier that morning, he had literally been stupefied.

He's sitting in his office now in the little yellow chair by the door as these very thoughts race through his head. His leg's throbbing even worse than before but right now it's one of the last things of his mind. He's been sitting there just about the entire day ever since he walked in that morning, getting up only once to use the bathroom. His team had tried to discuss the progress of their patient (soon to be ex-patient) but quickly gave up and went home for the day as he showed no signs of attentiveness.

Staring at some distant point on the floor, he goes over the chain of events that had led to today's incident for what had to be the millionth time. He analyzes every word, every look, every beat, anything that could explain what the hell was going on. But once again, he can't come up with anything and his confusion only escalates.

He taps his cane on the ground in frustration. _What the hell? _Exhaling loudly, he brings up a hand to rub his assaulted cheek, only subconsciously aware of his action. Even after eight hours, he could still feel it smarting, the ringing sensation echoing loudly throughout his head as his blood rushed to the offending muscle. The harsh contact of her hand against his unshaven cheek had left him speechless with a plethora of emotions making their presence known but anger was definitely not one of them.

As he looks back at the incident, he remembers the look on her face after she had slapped him and her tone when she had said her next words.

"_I don't owe you anything."_

Like the slap, her retort had stung not just because she had said it but because he knew she was right. She didn't owe him. Not in the slightest. If anything, he owed her. And that was one of the few things in his life he was truly sorry for.

He sits there for several more minutes, contemplating what to do next, her words still resonating in his head. Eventually, he makes up his mind, sighing in defeat. He's never ignored his curiosity before, having gone to many extremes just to satisfy it, but now he realizes that this time it just isn't the place. He then gets up and, despite the protests of his leg, sets out to do the one thing he's never been good at: apologizing.

--

He can feel his eyelids grow heavier with every second. As it is, he's been at work for the past 11 hours and he has a sinking feeling that he'll be here quite a bit longer. Once again, it's the paperwork that has him prisoner, not letting him leave until all his charting is done for the day. Sighing, he pauses momentarily to rub his tired eyes.

Just then, his door flies open. He only knew one insufferable ass who opened a door like that.

"Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it." he says, continuing on with his work without glancing up as the intruder comes in.

"Don't care."

Annoyed, he puts down his pen with more force than necessary and watches as House makes his way to the glass door, his back turned to him. There's a silence and he begins to wonder if House was just here to screw with him again. But as he studies his body language a bit closer, he realizes that something was different.

"I need to find Cameron." House says finally, still looking out through the glass.

He squints at the other doctor. "Even if I did know where she was, why would I tell you? When she's been trying to avoid your very presence to begin with."

Again, there's another silence. Now, he's sure something's going on.

House turns around and walks over to his desk. He stands there for a moment, eyes glued to the floor, brow furrowed in a familiar expression of indecision. "I need to apologize to her." he says, his voice strangely quiet as he taps his cane on the ground, a gesture been he's known to do when he's not fully comfortable with the situation.

"What did you do?" he sighs. He almost braces himself for the answer.

House tilts his head contemplatively. "Technically, it's what she did to me." He taps his cane again. "I was asking her what she was doing here and she slapped me."

At this, Wilson's eyebrows shoot up into his forehead in surprise. She hadn't even mentioned talking to House today when she came in two hours ago letting alone slapping him.

"She had every right to." continues House now raising his eyes to look at Wilson. "I checked the ER, clinic, locker room. I even walked out to the damn parking lot. Her car's still here which means she's still here."

He sits there for a minute, carefully considering his friend. He's looking at him with a different expression now, one he isn't accustomed to seeing. House wasn't pretending to be sorry; he actually looked it. In all honestly, he doesn't know where Cameron is, just that she had left his office about 45 minutes ago, now fully aware of the gravity of her situation. After completely mulling over House's words, he finally gives him an answer.

"Check the roof."

House nods slightly, his customary silent "thank you" and leaves the office without an other word.

Staring after him, Wilson sighs. He hopes to God he did the right thing.

* * *

A/N: I'll try my best to get the last chapter done soon but with school and my stupid computer and the biggest writer's block known to man kind it'll be a challenge. Anyway, please leave a review! ;)


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Wow. Has it been a while or what? Sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long but school's jus been crazy for me lately since the quarter's ending on Friday and I've been desperately trying to maintain my grades. This last chapter here has not been too pleasant to write. My brain jus wouldn't cooperate with me. I had the biggest writer's block known to mankind for the past few weeks. And again, excuse the medical talk in this chapter. I tried my best to make it sound realistic. And now, may I present, the 7th and final chapter! ;)

Disclaimer: Don't own it. I especially don't own the line by Harvey Dent in The Dark Knight that I used somewhere in this chapter.

Chapter 7

_Whoever invented stairs should be shot and pushed off a cliff then shot again_, he thinks vehemently as he painfully ascends up the staircase to the roof. The distance from where the elevator stops to where the stairs end isn't very far and on a normal day, this trek would've merely been intolerable but today it's absolutely excruciating. With every step, the pain magnifies about a 100 times and he's beginning to wish that he could just rip his leg off. Actually, he's already passed that point. About 20 steps ago. _Why'd she have to come all the way up here? _That is, if she was here at all. Maybe Wilson had just wanted to punish him and his unending curiosity. As if getting slapped wasn't enough.

He goes around the last twist of the staircase and sees the door leading to the roof just several steps away. Mustering up whatever tolerance he has left, he staggers up the steps and breathes a sigh of relief as he leans heavily on the door in order to catch his breath. It's all he can do not to collapse to the floor. He spends a minute or two massaging his thigh, letting the pain revert back to more tolerable levels, before pulling open the door and stepping out onto the roof.

He hasn't been up here in a while but this open sanctuary welcomes him back with a rush of familiarity. It's quiet here unlike the usual chaos and bedlam down on the hospital floors and he relishes the silence. The cool October breeze blows past, bringing with it a welcome relief to the scent of latex and floor polish that dominated the halls below. Being up here again gives way to a multitude of memories, some good, some bad, but he pushes them all back down into the deepest places of his brain nonetheless. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he looks around to locate the tell-tale head of long, blond hair and is relieved to see that his painful trek had not been in vain after all.

She's sitting on the ground about 50 feet away, her back resting against the brick wall behind her, arms hugging her legs protectively to her chest. Her head is tilted back and for a second he thinks that she's looking at the sky until he sees that her eyes are closed. He almost smiles upon seeing her like this, so quiet and still.

"A little early to be star gazing." he says, taking a step toward her.

"Go away." She's tired and a little part of her hopes that House will take the hint.

He doesn't. "Sure. As soon as I get next month's horoscopes for the hospital's monthly newsletter."

She tries again. "House, just go away."

"Can't."

"Damn it, House!" she yells suddenly, her eyes snapping open. "Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?"

This shuts him up good for a moment or two and he just stands there, looking down at her sitting form.

Closing her eyes again, she calms herself down enough to form a coherent sentence. "Is there any particular reason why you're here other than the fact that you love to invade other people's privacy?"

He doesn't know what makes him do it but he decides to give her a smart-ass answer even though he is in no way the position to do so. "Yes, actually. Venus is in retrograde tonight. Whoever spots it is supposed to find their soul mate by the next cycle." He stops his sarcasm when he sees the look on her face. She's exhausted beyond exhaustion with not even enough energy to come up with a retort. Shifting his gaze away from her, he looks guiltily at the ground and taps his cane a few times. "And I wanted to apologize to you." he continues, lowering his voice. "I had no right to ask you what you were doing with Wilson. And I'm sorry." He hopes that she'll believe him because he means every word of it but at the same time, he can't blame her if she doesn't. "If it makes you feel any better, you can slap me again if you want."

He watches her for a reaction but she doesn't say anything; she doesn't even move. Taking this as his answer, he turns around and begins walking back to the door and the 50 steps of pain that awaited him.

"House." She doesn't realize she's calling him back until after his name leaves her mouth and those piercing blue eyes turn back toward her, his gaze questioning. She hesitates for a split second. "35 year old female presents with acute intermittent headaches. Diagnosis?" Opening her eyes, she turns to look at him. She doesn't know what makes her say those words but they're out before she can stop herself.

He raises an eyebrow. Okay, he wasn't expecting that. "You want me to do a DDX on someone whose medical history I don't even know?"

"Well, it's not that big of a leap from what you actually do." she replies with a slight shrug.

There's a short pause. "The patient. Are we talking metaphorically or literally?"

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know. Does it?" he answers smartly.

"Just do the damn differential." she says, her tone sharper than what she intended.

He considers her for a moment, watching her intently. "Headaches are headaches. Give her some Tylenol and tell her to suck it up." he answers.

"Patient endures three and a half weeks before headaches degenerate into severe migraines."

"Am I allowed to ask questions?" he inquires, cocking his head.

Cameron stiffens. "Depends."

"Patient's occupation?"

"How is that relevant?" Her heart's speeding up and she hopes that she hasn't been too obvious already.

"Extremely high stress levels can cause serotonin receptors to go haywire. If Ms. Susie Blue's raising four kids while divorcing Cheating Chester and working eight to five at Marge's Diner, she might just start losing it."

She takes this in, choosing her answer carefully. "Patient works ten hour shifts, six days a week."

"Not exactly what I was asking, but okay." He fiddles with his cane, switching it from one hand to the other. "Her brain's getting overloaded. Topamax to knock-out the migraines and tickets to Cabo to get her a life. And tell her that we're humans, not robots."

"Patient receives strict orders to relax and instructed to take 25 mg of Topamax daily." He squints at her. "There's a 'but', isn't there?"

"Medication begins to loose effect after a month. Patient nearly dies from an overdose."

"Well, that ruined it." he says, scratching his forehead with his thumb. "Ineffectiveness of medication indicates a neurological problem. Get MRIs, CTs, and whatever other tests we got for the brain."

"Patient is admitted for a battery of tests."

"And…?"

She hesitates for a split second but not long enough for him to notice. "MRIs come back with results." Her voice is a bit softer than it had been two seconds ago.

He mulls over this new piece of information even though there's really only one solid diagnosis he can give. "Tumor. Judging by the rapid onset of the symptoms, I'm guessing that it's been there for a while and just passed the point the brain can handle. At least four centimeters located on the frontal lobe."

Sometimes she still can't believe just how damn good he is at his job and now is one of those moments. "Impressive."

He looks at her, confused. "So, what was that? Some sort of test? See if I still got it? 'Cause Cuddy has a whole file cabinet of patients who certainly think I do. Why didn't you just go ask them?"

She doesn't reply to this and merely sits there, staring up at the sky. "If you were the patient's attending, what would you tell her?"

"I'd tell her she was dying."

She looks at him. For some reason, his tactlessness angers her more than usual. "You'd say it like that? 'You're dying. There's nothing we can do.'"

"It's the truth." he replies, shrugging a shoulder. "What else is there to tell?"

"You wouldn't give her even an ounce of hope? Tell her it's gonna be alright even when you knew it's not?"

"There wouldn't be a point. You said it yourself."

And she snaps. Springing to her feet, she strides over to where he's standing until she's merely a few inches from his face. "There wouldn't be a point in showing a dying woman just a little bit of mercy after telling her that her life as she knew it was about to end?"

House doesn't flinch. "No."

"Why?"

"Because she'd already know the outcome." he says almost exasperatedly. "False hope doesn't help anyone. If anything, it screws them up even more into thinking that maybe if they try real hard, if they fight real hard, if they hang on tight enough to that nonexistent piece of hope, that everything's gonna be okay."

"Do you think they care?" she replies, her voice rising. "Do you think the relatives that gather around the hospital bed and see their smiling face during the last few days of their life are going to care that the hope you gave wasn't real?" He cocks his head. "They should. Because it'd be a lie."

Closing her eyes, she takes a breath to calm herself. "Not everyone's like you, House." she says, softening her tone. "People don't want to be miserable. Even if it means living the rest of their life with the delusion that the world is a decent place and that their suffering has to mean something in the end. Even if it doesn't. They want to know that if there was the smallest chance in all of hell of things turning out okay, it would because then there'd be something to hold onto, something that would make them get up every morning even when they knew what they had to look forward to."

"So, you're saying that we should just tell people who are on their death beds that they have absolutely nothing to worry about even if their next breath could be their last?"

"I'm saying that telling someone that there's still some hope left would be less cruel than telling them there wasn't."

There's a short pause as they regard each other, their gazes steady and unfaltering. "You've put a lot of thought into this." he surmises.

She takes a deep breath before responding, knowing that what she said next will be past the point of no return. "That's what happens when the story ends up to be true." Immediately, his expression changes and she can almost see the little gears in his head working in overtime as he processes this.

All at once, everything starts to click as various pieces of the puzzle come together. The visits with Wilson, the stubbornness, the slap, the differential. It all made sense. An odd sensation sweeps through his body, something he's never felt before. It's almost as if he's literally gone numb with disbelief. He searches her for some sort of indication of her illness but finds nothing. Just the tired, beaten face of the woman he had worked with for three years looking up at him.

"Aren't you gonna say anything?" she asks eventually.

The thing is, he doesn't know what 'anything' means. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That life isn't fair?" For the briefest of moments, his gaze falters slightly. Does he give her the truth? Or does he let her off easy? In the end, he decides on the former. "One of the realities of this world is that people die. Crack addicts, prostitutes, little kids who get run over by drunk drivers on their seventh birthday. It's all the same. The only real variable is the circumstance. It isn't always pleasant and it isn't always quick; it might not even be right. But it happens and it happens everyday. You got a diagnosis. What you do with it is up to you but the bottom line is that eventually our bodies will break down and we will die. The only difference between you and me is that I don't know when, I don't know where, and I don't know how."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He looks at the ground, almost uncomfortable with his answer. "Because it's the truth. And because dying doesn't need to be sugarcoated."

There's a short pause. "Then lie to me." she says and she begins to feel her eyes grow hot with tears. _No. Not in front of House_. "Lie like you like to everybody else in your life."

He raises his eyes to look at her. "Why?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer. "It's not gonna change anything, fix anything. It won't even make you feel any better than you do right now."

"I know." Her voice is shaking now. "But lie to me anyway."

Again, he's forced to tear his gaze away from her, unsure of what to say next. It's ironic, really. If he needs his patients to consent to some dangerous, jeopardizing procedure he can spin a lie out of anything. But ask him to lie to someone he's known for six years and he doesn't even know where to start. And then he thinks of the one response that will be the biggest lie he's ever told.

"It's okay."

She looks up and finds his clear blue eyes gazing directly into hers. She doesn't know what it is about them but in that second she forgets all about being strong and for the first time since she heard the news about her condition, the tears that she had been holding back for so long finally come pouring out.

He stands there for a moment as she sobs violently into his chest before wrapping his arms around her small body.

"Everything's gonna be okay." he whispers, once again looking up at the evening sky.

And for that one moment that she was crying in his arms, he believed it, even if he knew deep down in his heart that everything was definitely not going to be okay.

* * *

A/N: And so it ends. I might write an epilogue but I'm not too sure at the moment. Also, I jus feel the need to explain something. I actually wrote the ending starting at "Aren't you gonna say anything?" before I wrote anything else in this chapter jus because I really wanted to end it that way (that's jus how I work). So I had to build the rest of the chapter on that bit of dialogue at the end and I admit that some parts don't flow as well as I'd like them to because of that. That isn't an excuse; I jus wanted to explain.

Also, kudos to those of you who can spot the "The Dark Knight" references. I kinda tweeked somethings but the gist of the dialogue between Dent and Gordon at the end of the movie is in there. ;)

Anyway, it's been great fun writing this story even if certain bits wouldn't work with me. I'm glad you guys have shown this much enthusiasm for it. It really brightens my day. So, please take the time to leave a review and tell me what you think. Until next time! Cheers! ;)


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